Part 38 (1/2)
Our baby quail got tangled in the long gra.s.s as he tried to scurry away and I picked him up. He was a jolly soft little brown ball with the brightest eyes. I would have liked to bring him home to the child but I was afraid I couldn't care for him. Tell her though I have a most astonis.h.i.+ng present for her and she can never guess what it is, if she lies awake every night till I come. But to return to the ranch--it has two hundred acres of fine farming land, unlimited pasture, and a heavily timbered creek crossing it diagonally. The details I must give you when I get home. You have never seen a lovelier sight than the prairies at this time of year--I counted thirty-seven different kinds of flowers in one spot. Chicken Little would love the little sensitive plants that curl up their leaves when you touch them and open them again when they think you are gone. But I have forgotten the houses--there are two--which I suppose you and Marian will consider the most important of all.”
”But----” Ernest interrupted, ”why does he keep talking as if we were going, too? I thought he was just buying this for Frank and Marian.”
”So did I--just wait--he explains in a moment.
”One is a roomy, comfortable farm house of two stories, the other a snug five-roomed affair just across the road from the first.
Both houses are a little old-fas.h.i.+oned, but could easily be remodeled. One word as to the climate, then I have something for you to think over. Kansas is exactly the place for Marian--not so hot as Arizona, no startling change from hot days to cold nights as I found in Colorado. Now, dear, I want to know if you would be willing to consider coming out here to live also. The ranch is almost too big a thing for Frank alone and as you know I find my practice pretty hard work for a man of my age, but we'll talk all this over when I come home. Tell Ernest for me that he would never have weak eyes here. There is fis.h.i.+ng and hunting enough to keep any boy out doors, not to mention having a horse of his own.”
”O Mother,” Ernest interrupted again, ”wouldn't that be jolly?”
”Jolly, to leave our home and friends?”
Mrs. Morton's face was tragic and the tears flooded her eyes.
”Why, Mother--I didn't think--don't cry. Of course we won't go if you don't want to.” And Ernest stroked his mother's hair awkwardly.
Mrs. Morton smiled through her tears.
”I mustn't give way--it's foolish. But it was so unexpected--and I'm afraid--perhaps we ought to do it on Frank and Marian's account--and your father's. It is hard for him to be up nights so much. We'll see.”
Mrs. Morton kissed Ernest and picked up her sewing again.
Dr. Morton came home a week later sunburned and vigorous--full of the wonderful country he had been seeing. His trunk was a perfect treasure house of gifts for the family. Ernest's eyes shone when the canvas-covered case his father held out to him was found to contain a small shot gun. He had been begging for one for the past two years, but had been refused because he was too young.
”I think I can depend upon you to handle this with the greatest care, Ernest,” said his father impressively. ”I wouldn't have bought it for you if I hadn't felt a.s.sured you could be trusted.”
Dr. Morton looked at the boy keenly and was pleased to see the way he drew up his shoulders and looked his father in the eye as he replied:
”I think you can trust me, Father, I'll do my best.”
”I'm sure I can,” said his father heartily. ”The first thing you must remember is never to leave it loaded. Half the accidents occur because somebody 'didn't know it was loaded.' It's a simple matter to open it and slip out the sh.e.l.ls before you put it away.”
Dr. Morton took the s.h.i.+ny steel weapon across his knee and, opening it, slipped the sh.e.l.ls quickly in and out, with Ernest and Jane watching intently beside him.
”I believe I could do that,” Chicken Little remarked complacently.
”You'd better not try, Miss Meddlesome Matty,” e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Ernest sharply. ”Don't you ever let me catch you touching it!”
The child looked rebellious but her father added sternly:
”Ernest is quite right, little daughter, you must never under any circ.u.mstances try to handle this gun--but I have something for you that will keep you busy. No,” as she jumped up eagerly, ”you must wait till the last this time.”
”I just can't wait much longer, Father. I'm all going round inside.
Please hurry!”
But for some reason her father wouldn't hurry. He brought out two gay Navajo blankets for Mrs. Morton and Marian and a wonderful Mexican bridle for Frank.
”You'll have plenty of use for it on the ranch. You'll be in the saddle half your time I fancy,” he told the latter.
He even unwrapped a little Indian basket, which he asked Mrs. Morton to send to Alice. Still there was nothing for Chicken Little. She hung on the arm of his chair and fidgeted. Finally, he looked round at her quizzically: